


Make a list, oh brother of mine

by borntomkehistory



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borntomkehistory/pseuds/borntomkehistory
Summary: "Oh, how you never miss an opportunity to put on a show." The voice had an amused undertone to it. It was almost mocking. This was all wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very old story that i wrote when i finished season 3. Now that season 4 has premiered i figured that this was the perfect opportunity to post this story just to get in the old sherlock mood. without further ado I hope you enjoy this quick story and leave reviews letting me know what you think!

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Papers were scattered around the room. Wrong. Another one here, one over there, it was like a never-ending trail of papers filled with text. 

Wrong. 

Sherlock paced around his flat. He told Mrs. Hudson not to bother him, but she insisted on bringing him a cup of tea every so often. Sherlock was so grateful to have Mrs. Hudson as his landlord, he really was. But, at times like this he didn't want to be bothered. Everything was wrong. 

He threw himself down on the sofa, looking up at the boring ceiling. Gosh, he had such an itch for some nicotine. Anything that would calm his nerves. Sherlock jumped up from his original spot, practically sprinting over to the fireplace to get into his secret stash. Not even John knew that these were hidden here. 

Wrong. 

Nicotine wasn't what he most desired. He needed something more, something that would calm his thoughts, something stronger. He looked over at the mess on the table, quickly spotting out a blank sheet of paper and a pen. 

They wouldn't forgive him for this. But, he didn't care. Living the life of a genius was the more endearing job on earth, he found pleasure in what he did. Sherlock picked up the pen with slightly shaky hands. But, sometimes a genius had their own needs that needed to be met. 

Sherlock finished the list. He neatly folded the corners perfectly into each other and safety tucked the paper in his robe. He then moved over to lock the door. Something he never did. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

He sat down on the floor, folding his long legs. For some reason his heart was pounding in his chest, he's never felt this way before. He didn't know why this sudden emotion was taking over his body. The case was open and in it was a small bottle with a shiny needle next to it. Wrong. 

If John was here he would have walked in right now to stop him. He would have snatched the needle out of his hand while telling him what an idiot he was, and how he was wasting such a great mind on this garbage. But, John wasn't here. There was nothing to worry about. 

The needle pricked his skin. It was funny really. Even after all the times he did this, all the times he had to get shots at hospitals, the prick was always the same. Sherlock always ignored pain. He thought it was such a silly feeling, along with love, sadness, and happiness. It was such a waste of brain space. 

Wrong. 

The morphine worked immediately. It was always such a... Delightful feeling. His mind was clear, all those unnecessary files gone. Friends, Family, Acquaintances, enemies. It was only temporary. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, letting the needle slip out of his hand while he slipped back into his newly cleared mind. Perfect. 

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. 

He doesn't know how long he was in this state of mind, nor does he care. This is all so perfect. This is what he needed. 

"Oh, brother dear." That voice sounded so familiar, but there was no face to match the sound. Sherlock opened his eyes. 

He was laying on the floor. His eyes darted around the room. When was it night? A fuzzy image appeared in front of him. Multiple fuzzy images in fact. 

"Oh, how you never miss an opportunity to put on a show." The voice had an amused undertone to it. It was almost mocking. This was all wrong. 

Sherlock hauled himself off the floor as best he could on shaky arms. The fuzzy images were started to focused, no, this was all so wrong. "Cocaine or Morphine?" A different voice asked. This voice however wasn't pleased, it sounded stern and quite agitated. 

"Morph..." Sherlock mumbled. His voice was dry, his tongue felt that sandpaper. He could feel his high start to wear off as quickly as it started. This was so, so wrong. 

"Did you make a list, brother?" He reached into his pocket, purposely crumpling up the paper. The paper landed between the three men. 

Mycroft leaned down to retrieve the paper. He tucked it away, not saying a word before walking towards the front door. His back now facing his brother and brothers best friend. "Take care of him, John." He spoked slowly, "there's people who care about this world and the people they affect, and then there's Sherlock." John carefully listened to his words. "Make sure he doesn't end up like one of those people who cares too much." 

John didn't understand. Mycroft exited the flat. Clenching the list tightly in his hand. 

"Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock." Mycroft thought to himself as he walked his way down the stairs of 221B Baker Street. 

A sad smile appeared on his face. He announced his departure Mrs. Hudson. 

"Do take care of yourself." He thought again. 

"The world needs you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little story!


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